How a Heart Breaks
by valeriawyverstone
Summary: Harry and Snape are more similar than Severus thought. Occlumency lessons lead to sympathy... and perhaps more? Eventually Snape/Harry. K  for mention of abuse.


There was a time when Severus Snape's life was simple. Not simple as other people's, perhaps, but simple _enough_. His childhood, though difficult, was made bearable by the presence of that red-haired angel he could never forget; his adolescence only further complicated matters. And yet, despite betraying the only woman he had ever come to love, then trading his life to try to save hers, life had never been as complicated as it was now.

Of course there were those that said that the fear had risen to higher levels during the First War. The death toll was higher then, and the sheer magnitude of the unexpected violence drove the masses mad. Back then, he had been one of the powerful, hidden behind his dark robes and frightening mask. Things may have been difficult for the Wizarding World, but he was at the height of his power. Then, of course, he had to go and ruin it all. In the end, he wasn't sure who he could blame. His master, in his eyes, was faultless. Lily, immaculate. As for himself, he had not planned for things to turn out the way they did. Perhaps it was Dumbledore's fault, for making him turn into a double agent.

Which brought him to this terrible predicament. His ambition was never to be a teacher, much less Potions Master. When Dumbledore insisted that he stay at Hogwarts, Snape had applied to the open position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Year after year, he and Dumbledore would play out the same charade. He would approach the old man, request the position, and demonstrate his abilities and strengths in the given field. Every year, Dumbledore declined, with that mysterious smile of his and his eyes twinkling over half-moon spectacles. It was enough to make Snape want to retch.

For ten years, he taught that damnable class uncomplainingly. He knew that it would not do to whine to the Headmaster like the very schoolboys that were in his classes. He kept his mouth shut and did his job, hoping that he would one day receive his just rewards. But of course, life is never that simple. After ten years of waiting for something, _anything,_ to show him meaning, he finally understood why he was being kept in the castle.

He could not contain the contempt that bubbled forth the minute he saw Potter's name on the class roster. Harry Bloody Potter, savior of the Wizarding World, was going to be in his class. Snape headed immediately to the Headmaster's office, informing him that there was no way he would be teaching that piece of vermin.

"That 'piece of vermin,' as you have so eloquently put it, is the only son of the woman you loved," Dumbledore had responded. He had stayed calm and quiet, something that infuriated Snape to no end.

"If you loved her," he went on, "That is, if your love for her was as pure as you say it was, then you will protect the boy. For her. For your love for her."

Snape had, understably, exploded at this.

"Severus, you came to me with a request ten years ago, did you not?" asked the Headmaster gently, "And you said you would give me anything in return. Now, I am asking you to do this; not for me, but for _her._"

After that, there was little discussion. There was no word too strong to describe Snape's loathing for the boy, of that, there was no question. Still, for Lily…. Snape would do anything for her, even after she was gone. So he grudgingly accepted the responsibility and looked out for the boy. And now, he had to train the boy against the Dark Lord. It was an impossible task, as the boy hated him and refused to cooperate. The boy acted and looked so much like his father that it sickened Snape. It was bad enough to lose Lily to that pompous bastard, but to have to see a young clone of Potter Sr. every day was getting to be too much. Especially now that he was giving him private lessons.

Truly, it was a thankless job, and one that he had not asked for. There were days when he honestly thought that he could not deal with sainted Potter's stubbornness and adolescent anger much longer. He had to remind himself over and over again that he, too, knew what it was like to be a teenager growing up during a war. At times, he could almost empathize with Potter. Then, he would suddenly fill with disgust and shame at the thought that he felt sympathy for the son of his worst enemy. _It simply wouldn't do to pity Potter_, he told himself. He was as arrogant as his father, and had walked around with the same of entitlement. He didn't _deserve _the pity.

Snape sighed heavily, collapsing into a chair by his fireplace. He watched the flames absently, wondering how someone as cold as he was could feel pity like this. He didn't want to feel bad for the boy, but after the last Occlumency session, he couldn't help but wonder if he didn't have more in common with the boy than he thought.

Potter's defenses were still weak, and Snape was able to break through the barriers of Harry's mind with ease. At first, the memories he had seen were recent, memories of Potter's wretched little friends and their escapades. Each time he attacked his Harry, he felt himself go deeper and deeper into his mind and his past. _Perhaps_, he had thought, _If I go deep enough, I can see Lily again. Just one more time_.

It was a cruel plan, to send the boy back to the moments of terror when his parents died- _if_ he could even remember them. However, his concern had not been for Potter's safety at the time, but rather his own, selfish desire to see his angel again. If he had thought that breaking into Potter's earliest memories would be easy, he was sorely mistaken. The boy was overly emotional, and thus his mind was open like a book; nevertheless, he was stubborn and spiteful, cutting off Snape each time before he could get too far.

The memories he eventually saw were sparse and short, jagged and sharp like shards of a broken mirror. Scattered among the imbecilic adventures of the bloody "Golden Trio" were scenes of abuse that were frighteningly similar to his own past. In one, a tall, bony woman took the boy's hand and pressed it to the stove, yelling at him for letting their breakfast burn. In another, the boy was shoved into a small cupboard and locked in from the outside, while a large, beefy man nailed pieces of wood over the door frame. "Try to get out now!" the man had bellowed, cackling as he walked away. There was also a boy, young enough to be Potter's age, who appeared in the scenes of torment. Sometimes he was a bystander, observing with a cruel smirk on his face; other times, he lead a group of other boys in violent attacks on a young Potter.

Snape hadn't known what to say. His relationship, or lack thereof, with Potter didn't afford courtesies like apologies. Potter had stormed out without a word, not bothering to even give his Professor a look of hate or blame. Snape couldn't help the feelings that washed over him now. If he had known… If he had even expected it… He shook his head to clear his mind. It was not his place to play the role of savior. That was Potter's role, wasn't it? The savior of the Wizarding World, the Chosen One.

In the silence, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed half-past nine. With a start, he realized that he had not eaten dinner. The Great Hall would be empty at this hour, but he could always go to the kitchens. Yes, a walk to the kitchens would do him some good. Fresh air, a change of setting, and he wouldn't have to concern himself over the mess his life was now.

The edges of his robes whispered against the stone floor as he made his way through the corridors. He scanned the halls as he walked to the kitchens. Secretly, he hoped he would find a student or two still out. Frustration was getting the best of him, and he knew that docking a boatload of points from a rival house could always put him in a better mood.

As he descended the staircase that led to the Hufflepuff Common Room, Snape heard the distinctive clink of glass against stone. _Excellent,_ he thought, _students out past curfew_. He turned the corner quickly, walking briskly towards a portrait of a bowl of fruit. Underneath it, the perpetrator in question was sitting against the wall, partially obscured by the shadows. At the sound of the rapidly approaching footsteps, the student looked up. Even though he was hidden by the darkness, Snape knew who it had to be. He would know those eyes anywhere.

"Evenin'… _Professor_," said the boy scathingly, raising a bottle of Firewhiskey in greeting.


End file.
